


Sweetest You've Ever Tasted

by Marasa



Category: Reservoir Dogs (1992)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Cuddling, Cute, Flirting, Hanging Out, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Protectiveness, and Joe Cabot fumes, before the heist, fun times, the dogs care about each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-10-25 20:07:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20730026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marasa/pseuds/Marasa
Summary: Before another one of Joe’s meetings, the Reservoir Dogs make a unanimous decision to grab a bite to eat together.





	Sweetest You've Ever Tasted

Before another one of Joe’s meetings, the Reservoir Dogs make a unanimous decision to grab a bite to eat together.

They know they’re not supposed to get chummy but it’s kinda too late for that and they’re so damn hungry and the burgers at this one little joint on the corner look delicious. 

They’re looking like regular citizens and not at all like a professional team of robbers as they sit around a table in the corner. Freddy is aware of this, is aware of his peers’ button down shirts and polished loafers, while he himself is dressed in a t-shirt printed with the logo of a local comic shop beneath an old denim jacket and a pair of tattered jeans. 

“This is some pretty damn good cream soda,” Mr. Blonde says, shaking the drink in his hand.

“What brand is it?” Mr. Pink asks.

“Brady's.”

“That’s the good one.”

“Pure cane sugar.”

They all hum their agreement and fondness for copious amounts of sugar. Freddy's the only one who doesn’t.

"What?" Freddy says defensively. "I've never had cream soda. I don't know this 'Brady' guy, sorry."

Mr. Blonde leans back in his seat. “C’mere.”

“Leave the kid alone,” Mr. White says sternly, a clear warning. 

“He’s a full grown man. C’mere.”

Freddy tries to smile it off and ease Larry’s anxiety, but then he's sighing and rising from his seat just so he can stand beside Blonde's chair.

“Take a sip.”

“It’s okay, I’m good.”

“What do you mean you’re good? You said you’ve never tasted it before. Here.”

Freddy sighs through his nose but bends his head down so he can take the end of the straw into his mouth.

A bit citrusy. A lot of bubbles. Really, really, really sweet.

“That’s fuckin’ good.”

Mr. Blonde huffs a laugh. “Am I liar?”

The jury is definitely still out on that one but Freddy doesn’t worry about it now as he takes the straw between his lips again. He takes a long sip this time, indulgent and unapologetic. 

Mr. Blonde smiles that certain smile, that weird one halfway between murderous and entertained. He winks at Orange as the geek shuffles away on scuffed boots to his empty seat at the safety of Mr. White’s side.

One of the employees comes by with basket upon plastic basket of their orders and takes the plastic number at the center of the table as she leaves.

“They only gave me one packet of sauce,” Mr. Pink grumbles. “How in the hell am I supposed to eat twenty nuggets with one packet of sauce?”

“You’re not eating all twenty nuggets, you said so yourself,” Mr. White says. 

“My stomach is very small, all right? Shoot me.”

Mr. Blonde perks up. Mr. Pink glares at him.

Mr. Brown peels off half the paper on the straw and blows into one end of it, sending the other half flying through the air at Mr. Orange’s chest. 

He jumps at the unexpected projectile while Mr. Brown laughs and snorts and giggles like a madman.

“Knock it off,” Mr. White chides gruffly. “One more thing hits this side of the table and I hit you.”

“Okay, geez.”

Mr. Brown looks at Mr. Blue to his right for support. The old man is too preoccupied with his papery holder of fries.

“Y’know, when I was a kid, a serving of fries like this was at most twenty-five cents," he says. "Now they’re charging two-fifty.”

“The world’s gone mad,” Mr. Pink murmurs.

They’ve dived into their respective orders like a bunch of dogs but Freddy stalls, nibbles, is mostly disgusted but doesn’t want to make a big deal of it when everyone else is going on about how great theirs is.

It’s White who spies Freddy glancing at his burger and he just knows it was a mistake for the guy to order the chicken sandwich. It looks like a dried up piece of piece of jerky between two buns. 

“You want a bite?” 

Freddy shakes his head like he isn’t hungry but the flicker of interest in his eyes is visible.

“Have a bite.”

“I’m good-“

“Yeah, yeah. Eat.”

Freddy rolls his eyes and taps his feet on the ground but picks up the burger and takes a generous bite from the bitten side rather than an untouched one. He chews, swallows, stares at the burger like it’s a lover. 

“Brown,” Mr. White says with a nod at him, “go get Mr. Orange a cheeseburger, would ya? And throw out whatever shit he’s already got.”

“What? Why?”

“It’s no good.”

“But he ordered it.”

“Go get him a fuckin’ burger. Jesus Christ, why is everything a conversation with you?”

“Well, you got any money?”

“Here.”

Mr. Brown takes the five dollar bill thrown at him and swipes up the still full basket from in front of Freddy. Mr. White waits until he’s at the counter to lean over and whisper, “Fuckin’ jackass, isn’t he?”

Freddy huffs a laugh, only stops when Brown sets a burger down in front of him.

He’s quiet when his mouth is full. He still laughs and nods and raises his eyebrows as Brown cycles through another wild interpretation of pop culture or Mr. Blue tells a joke or Mr. Pink yelps like a little chihuahua at Mr. Blonde who is insistently jabbing him with a plastic fork whenever he isn’t looking.

“All right, that’s it,” Mr. Pink spits at a giggling Mr. Blonde. “Someone switch seats with me. I’m not sitting next to this lunatic anymore. I refuse.”

“Aw, c’mon, just sit down-“

“No I’m not sitting down!”

“What’s the big deal?” Mr. White says. “He’s teasin’ you a little bit, so what?”

“You’re not the one sitting next to him. If it’s no problem, then by all means, switch spots with me.”

“Fine,” Freddy says, swallowing his last bite of burger and wiping his mouth with a napkin, “I’ll switch with you.”

“Hey-“ Larry starts but Freddy is already walking behind him and slipping into Pink’s seat immediately to his right between himself and Mr. Blonde. 

It’s unspoken that Freddy chills out Mr. Blonde when the latter is feeling playful. It’s not his job and no one asks it of him, but Mr. Blonde had taken a particular liking to him. 

Freddy gets himself situated, pulls in his chair a little and Mr. Blonde sighs through his nose over a smile nearing something softer than is usual for him. Then he throws his left arm around Freddy’s shoulders and pulls him tight against his side. It’s strange to see them together, like a cat snuggling up with a mouse.

It’s warm where Freddy’s cheek is pressed against the side of Blonde’s chest just under his armpit. Blonde’s heartbeat thrums in Freddy’s ear despite his distance from the center of his chest. He smells of cologne and slightly of sweat but it doesn’t bother Freddy at all. If anything, he finds himself taking deeper breaths. 

Freddy’s eyes slide up as Blonde grabs a piece of his hair once out of place and strokes it back down.

“I’m being gentle,” Mr. Blonde assures Larry in a murmur gone unheard by the others currently sparking up a meaningless debate. 

Freddy puts on a poker face that’s mildly unimpressed but inside he’s flustered and flattered, something warm starting in his stomach at Larry’s protectiveness and Mr. Blonde’s rumbling voice.

Mr. Blonde might be holding him, but the side of Freddy’s foot is currently pressed against the side of Larry’s under the table and when Freddy nudges him, Larry nudges gently back. 

The conversation drolls on. Freddy isn’t listening. He’s distracted by a thread on his pant leg and the way his own foot has hooked around Larry’s ankle. Freddy pinches the thread between his fingers and places it on Mr. Blonde’s thigh currently pressed against his. 

Freddy smiles to himself. 

When he shifts, his forehead grinds into his side and Mr. Blonde looks down.

“What’s up, buttercup?”

“Nothin’,” he murmurs and settles against him again, Larry still fuming in his periphery.

Freddy thinks he could get used to this. He’s not a big hit in the police force. They think he’s too young, won’t give him the time of day. They’re uppity. They don’t want to risk tarnishing their reputation at the very possibility of spending their valuable time off with the young guy. Holdaway was the only one who has ever gotten food with him and that’s only because he was doing this job.

And that’s when Freddy remembers just who he is and what he’s doing. 

To everyone else in this place, they must look like a bunch of friends. They’re just a couple of guys getting a bite. Little did they know this, whatever this is, is destined to soon blow up in their faces and condemn them to prison. 

There’s a twist of his stomach and in a wave of brief panic, he wills himself to wrap a slender arm around the front of Mr. Blonde's waist and cling to him, bring his ankle in and subsequently press Larry's leg firmer against his. Mr. Blonde rests a hand on Freddy's arm, thumb stroking his forearm absently. Larry presses their legs together in a soft swaying motion hidden under the table.

And Freddy makes a deal with himself that at least for today, he’s not a cop but a guy with more than a couple of friends.

He smiles at Pink getting after Brown yet again and Blue’s annoyed grumbling and Blonde’s warmth and White’s presence.

And when a straw prods at his lips, Freddy takes the cream soda in his hands and drinks and drinks and drinks until all he can taste is sweet.


End file.
